


Virgin is Such a Touchy Word

by KitsJay



Category: The Dresden Files - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 22:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17795720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitsJay/pseuds/KitsJay
Summary: Dresden is in trouble again, and this time it's up to Morgan to bail him out.





	Virgin is Such a Touchy Word

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at FF.net. Definitely more TV-verse than book.

_Virgin is a touchy word—as teenagers across the world have long since discovered. Is it in the actual penetration that one loses their virginity? Does lying in bed with a lover, fooling around, count? Would you take it as far as the intent?_

_Magic is imprecise. A faery may be bound to tell the truth, but that does not guarantee the words they say are honest. So when you need a virgin sacrifice for something… well…_

"Where is he?" Morgan ground out.

Bob sneered back at him, but Morgan thought he caught just the barest hint of concern in his eyes. "I told you already, I do not know. He didn't see fit to take me with him on this particular jaunt, as he was just planning on going grocery shopping. One hardly needs a skull for that."

"How long?"

"He left two days ago, at 2:13 in the afternoon," Bob said. He straightened. "I doubt it takes even Harry that long to pick out the latest canned Italian monstrosity."

Morgan snarled in frustration and paced the length of the office. Reports surfaced a few days ago about some black magic being used in Chicago and, naturally, his mind went to one Harry Dresden. This disappearance only reaffirmed Morgan's suspicions, but why not take the skull if he were truly going to the dark side? Surely Hrothbert of Bainbridge still had a few tricks up his sleeves he could teach to a newly evil wizard. Shaking his head of such thoughts, he whirled around again.

"Necromancer," he said, ignoring the glare the ghost gave him in return, "did he leave anything behind? Anything to trace him with?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Bob sniffed. He pointed an insubstantial finger to the coat rack. "There. His duster, that should work nicely."

Grabbing the thick leather coat and shaking his head—really, a black trench coat? Of course he went evil—Morgan did a quick spell and pulled the coat over his shoulders. Dresden might have preferred his crystals, but quick and dirty would have to do. One of his informants had hinted a ritual was supposed to be taking place tonight, a sacrificial ritual. Some innocent out there was probably being tortured and maimed by black magic…

The duster subtly pulled him outside. Without waiting to hear the ghost's last words, Morgan shouldered his sword and went to fight for justice.

The warehouse stood in an otherwise empty lot, plainly deserted judging by the broken windows and graffiti decorating the sides of the building. The entire place reeked of black magic, coating Morgan's skin in ephemeral grime. Anyone who came by here would probably cross the street to avoid the place, walking quickly and darting quick glances over their shoulders at the sound of imagined footsteps behind them.

"Alright, Dresden, let's see what evil you're up to now," Morgan muttered under his breath. With a quiet murmur, he pulled a veil around himself and stalked towards the building until he found a door barely ajar. Sliding one hand into the crack, he pulled it open just enough to squeeze through, then gently closed it almost shut once more.

The inside of the warehouse seemed as empty as the lot around it, save for a large wooden table standing in the center. Morgan glanced around, then cautiously approached it and felt his lip turn up at what he saw. Half-burnt candles, a knife covered in something that looked like blood, and a grimoire sitting on the edge, open to a page detailing some ritual for demon-raising. Morgan leaned forward to read the paper when he suddenly heard a scuffing noise from up ahead. He pulled his sword and held it in front of him.

There, mostly hidden by shadows, a figure was lying on its side as if the person had curled up and fallen asleep then and there. Another figure was leaning over the first, whispering something and—Morgan blinked. Stroking the prone figure's hair?

"Show yourselves," Morgan boomed, unveiling himself.

The second person whirled, eyes widening in surprise. Instead of Dresden, however, another man stood in front of him. Looking closer, Morgan revised that to a boy. He was almost as tall as Morgan, but with scarcely any muscle on his frame. Reddish curls fell into his face and he nervously pushed glasses up his nose.

"Who are you?" he squeaked out, backing away.

Morgan advanced, never lowering his blade. "I am Morgan, Warden of this city. Who are you?"

The kid straightened and tried his best to look superior and, no doubt, menacing. He mostly looked like someone two punches away from being shoved into a high-school locker. "I am the Great and Awesome Mazdarck!"

Raising an eyebrow, Morgan snorted. "What is your business here?"

The Great and Awesome Mazdarck glowered and Morgan felt the building up of magic around him. "No one takes me seriously," the kid whined, "but you will after tonight! I'm going to call a demon, the biggest one you can find, and people will respect me then!"

"You have broken the Laws of Magic," Morgan intoned. His sword swung through the air, neatly slicing through the spell the sorcerer threw at him. "For this, the penalty is death."

Respecting your job and liking it are two very different things. Morgan respected Justice and Honesty and Right, but that did not mean he enjoyed what had to be done to uphold these things. Certainly there were some black magicians that deserved to be taken down, and Morgan felt a grim satisfaction in that, but chopping off a boy's head because he was too nervous and too untrained to know any better was never an enjoyable task.

Especially when said boy felt the need to monologue the entire time.

"All I needed was a virgin!" the boy said, casting another spell at Morgan and running away. Morgan advanced without pausing, but the kid had one thing going for him: he was fast. Must have been all those years of running away from bullies. "The demon wanted a virgin and I saw him on the street and knew he was the one. No way he could refuse someone that powerful. And it's not like he was in pain, or anything, I gave him some stuff so he's not feeling anything."

"Give," Morgan grunted, swinging his sword again, "up."

"Why should I?" the boy asked petulantly, throwing a particularly nasty spell at Morgan. "You said that the penalty is death, so what've I got to lose?"

He nearly paused. It was true, the rather strict policy on breaking the Laws of Magic meant that "leverage" wasn't something Wardens could really use. Still. "Surrender," he said threateningly.

The boy ducked behind an old column, but his voice continued echoing. "I mean, I know he wanted a real virgin, but do you know how hard they are to find these days? So I figured, he totally counted, because he turned me down when he thought I was hitting on me, so of course he's never—"

Morgan really did not want to hear anymore of this. At all. Ever. In fact, he could have quite happily died without hearing this. With renewed dedication, he heaved his sword and turned away before he heard the dull thump of a body hitting the ground.

He walked towards the figure still lying in the shadows and could see that it was a man. Dresden, had to be, Morgan thought, who else gets into trouble grocery shopping?

"Dresden," he said, tugging on the man's shoulder. "Dresden."

His hands and ankles were bound and a gag was left in his mouth. Morgan made quick work of the bindings around his limbs and only hesitated a minute before taking out the gag. This would be much easier if he didn't have to listen to Dresden's comments that he no doubt thought were witty.

"Dresden!" he called again.

Harry giggled.

Blinking, Morgan shook his shoulder again. "Dresden?"

Harry's eyes snapped open and stared at his, dilated until only a thin ring of brown showed around the pupil. He giggled again. "Hiya, Morgan! Morgan! Morrrr-gaaaan. Whatcha doin' here?"

Morgan gritted his teeth. He hauled the infuriating man's arm over his shoulder and stood, grunting when Harry's full weight hit him. The man's legs shook unsteadily beneath him.

"I came to find you," Morgan said, which was strictly true, even if it did neatly sidestep the issue of having to admit he was wrong.

"Oh. Did you need groceries too?" Harry asked earnestly.

"No," Morgan said as calmly as he could manage, "you were kidnapped by a sorcerer, remember?"

"You mean that weird kid?" Harry shook his head. "Naaah. He can't be a sorc'rer. He bought me a drink." He suddenly shifted to put his face close to Morgan's and whispered conspiratorially, "I had to turn him down though."

"I should hope so," Morgan said. He resisted the urge to give a lecture about accepting drinks from strangers. How the man had ever lived as long as he had was a question Morgan had asked himself for years.

"He thought I was gay, Morgan!" Harry continued babbling. "I mean, just 'cause I noss-notissicis—see what Bob's eyes look like and think Thomas's pretty and you work out—"

"Stop. Talking," Morgan said a little bit desperately. Figuring it was better in the long run for all parties involved, he said a quick spell over Harry's head and took his full weight when the man collapsed in a deep sleep.

"A virgin sacrifice?" the ghost repeated incredulously. "Harry?"

"The boy was not Einstein," Morgan said dryly. He hefted one last time and managed to deposit Harry on the couch. Sighing, he looked at the ghost severely. "It appears he was innocent this time. But if I ever catch him—"

"Yes, yes," the ghost waved a dismissive hand. "Death, destruction, et cetera. You may leave now."

Morgan growled and stalked towards the door. He stopped right before the entrance, then cleared his throat without turning. "When Dresden wakes up…"

"Yes?"

"Tell him that we aren't going to talk about this. Ever."

He could almost feel the ghost raise an eyebrow behind his back. "I shall deliver the message."

Morgan braced himself and went forward into the cold Chicago night. He needed to find a bar, immediately—he had a feeling it was going to take a lot of Scotch to erase the memory of this night.


End file.
